


In the Dark with the Devil

by victorianvirgil



Series: Beneath a Criminal [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Choking, Fingering, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, but this was requested, chicago in the 20s, it’s just Rough let’s leave it at that, jesus fuck these tags, like a crime lord, like capone, roman is a horny bastard, roman is a prohibition officer, so it’s not entirely my fault, the sex is kinda explicit, virgil is a boss, virgil is lowkey insane, virgins lesbians and religious people i am so sorry because i am all three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 09:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianvirgil/pseuds/victorianvirgil
Summary: Each and every man had their breaking point, and for Virgil Faraldo, crime lord of Chicago, it was the boredom he felt upon sitting alone in a jail cell for hours on end. But not really, not when he had visions of just how exactly he would take revenge on Roman for company. Which, after coaxing the other into his trap, is exactly what he did.





	In the Dark with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> if you ask, you shall receive (and all of you that wanted this should be ashamed lmaoooo you kinky fucks I love you)

In the Dark with the Devil

 

Being detained in a jail cell with only one’s self for company was far worse than Virgil Faraldo originally thought it was going be.

 

With nothing to do and nothing to look at, no movement to draw his eye or color to comfort him, his world was composed of merely three monochromatic walls, thirteen metal bars, and an impregnable darkness. Even the empty beer bottle between his thighs whispered of desolation and solitude.

 

His world had become distorted in less than a day, but he was biding his time. Things tended to fall into his lap with little effort, and he would be free in no time. Would bet his fortune on it.

 

But that hadn’t stopped the original seed of anger to take root and sprout when he realized that Roman had swindled him. Virgil was a smart man after all - clearly showcased by his successful business - and did not take deception lightly.

 

Not in the slightest.

 

He had since realized that Roman Belmonte - granted the title “officer” and “whore” by the United States of America and the crime lord of Chicago respectively - wasn’t worth the waste of metal in putting a bullet or two in Roman’s head. Hell, he could have one of the cops do it if he wanted, one of the many that were on his payroll and had looked rather surprised to see their boss tossed into the windowless basement. But they adhered to Roman’s orders and left him, only one daring to slip past Belmonte’s guard to hand him a beer.

 

That had been hours ago, and Virgil had been alone since - accompanied by only the dark creatures his mind fabricated and threatened to take tangible form in the shadows. From his slab of a bed that felt more like concrete, he had to squint to distinguish these monsters from vacant chairs and their taunting whispers from the scurrying of rats. But he hid his fear and anger well, for both times Roman had checked on him, he had found the crime lord sporting a neutral expression; only his eyes ever betrayed him, twin storms brewing that the officer had twice been too far away to see.

 

Biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike like lightning.

 

Just then, a door creaked and a sliver of light shone onto Virgil, the neck of his bottle jubilantly gleaming as Virgil’s pale skin acted similarly. The crime lord became a beacon, and yet Virgil was the one squinting in order to adjust to the brightness. A heavenly glow framed the silhouette of a man as he descended the stairs, and Virgil could hear the soft clicking of his tongue.

 

He wasn’t alone anymore, and Virgil struggled to bite back his smirk and keep his eyes averted. To appear no more vicious than a farmer’s sheep frolicking in the springtime air.

 

To hide the fact that he was a conniving wolf.

 

Roman Belmonte stared at the hunched figure, his heels pressed to the bottom step as he waited for acknowledgement. Virgil wouldn’t grant him the luxury.

 

A cleared throat echoed through the darkness, perking Virgil’s ears as he dug his blunt fingernails into his soft palms that were slowly slickening with sweat. Nervous? God no. Virgil Faraldo had never felt more excited in his life.

 

Roman braved a step forward and away from the safety of the staircase, lips pursed as he continued to wait for the other to address him or at least to vocalize whatever dark thoughts were cycling between his ears. Another hushed step fell, followed by another more confident stride, until, nearly a lifetime later, a thick, horizontal bar split Roman’s asymmetrical face in two. Virgil licked his lips as he leaned back and brought a knee to his chest, carefully concealing his bottle behind his thigh.

 

After standing, Virgil could take three comfortable paces and find himself inches away. Breaching the gap between the bars would be thin fingers, Virgil’s hungry touch meeting Roman’s skin. And he would let him, allow Virgil to do whatever it is he wanted as long as there was protection from those metal bars.

 

But it wouldn’t be enough, not at all, so Virgil remained hunched over, waiting for the moment Roman would damn himself.

 

And then, moments later, there it was, jingling keys and the whisper of the heavy door.  _ Go back, God, go back, _ it warned until Roman has shut it again, pocketing the keys as he stared at Virgil’s form.

 

“Don’t tell me that all it took to break the wannabe Capone was a few hours alone in the dark.”

 

The words housed a faux confidence so easy for Virgil to distinguish, and despite his efforts, he couldn’t smother his involuntary snort. Roman beamed, and there it was. The damning.

 

With his eyes still averted to keep his harmless facade, Virgil replied, “Broken? This experience has hardly even been humbling because I’m still being treated like a king.”

 

“A king?” Roman retorted, taking a step forward and yes,  _ yes _ good.  _ Come closer, darling _ . “You and I might have different views of what we consider royal treatment, then.”

 

Virgil was lying as still as a Venus Flytrap, allowing for Roman to carefully tread past his erect fangs and then it would be too late. Too late to wriggle out of his grasp and beg for mercy.

 

Virgil didn’t have much mercy to spare to the man that had deceived him anyway, not much at all.

 

Two more steps and Roman was hovering over him, eyeing Virgil expectantly. The criminal looked up and Roman froze, paralyzed under the piercing gaze. The mild storms for eyes had strengthened into full-blown hurricanes that screamed of danger and destruction. Chaos personified. A final warning for Roman to run while he had the chance, while he still had two legs beneath him.

 

Like a bolt of lightning, Virgil pushed off the wall and smirked at the obvious - and glorious - hitch in Roman’s breath. The light from the ajar door a flight of stairs away cast a warm glow around Roman’s head, a halo reminiscent of an angel. A gift from the heavens.

 

And as they stood there, tips of their shoes brushing and breaths mingling, Virgil would become only the worst of vices to make Roman fall from grace.

 

His gaze was an iron fist, pinning Roman in place, and Roman squirmed, lips delicately parting as he waited for Virgil to take control. As an apology, nothing short of recognition of the fact that he had made a mistake and because of it, would allow Virgil to do whatever it is he desired. Besides, it’s what they both wanted.

 

Virgil’s eyes were a dark sleet as he lunged at Roman, shoving him against the wall with both hands on his throat.

 

The officer’s own hands shot up, gripping Virgil’s wrists while his eyes bulged. The light hazel was darkened to a pitch before, and only for a second, pure white fear flashed in them. He was scared of Virgil, good.

 

He should be.

 

“You deserve every single thing I plan on doing to you,” Virgil hissed, hardly surprised to feel the other hardening beneath him. He laughed though, the cackle causing Roman to shiver and pull at his hands more aggressively but Virgil was strong, far stronger than he appeared. “I should kill you now, watch that pretty skin bruise beneath my hands as you take your last, pitiful breath . . .”

 

Instead, he released him and watched Roman crumble. He was clutching his throat, wheezing as he tried to get a sufficient amount of air into his lungs. Virgil felt tempted to kick him but no, he would rather drop to his knees and push Roman’s legs apart, corner him there. Begin the real assault on his mind and body. 

 

And so he did.

 

Roman’s breathing was still erratic when Virgil pressed their lips together, right hand slipping into his hair and tugging at the strands. In response, Virgil earned a moan of pleasure.

 

Mahogany eyes - darkened by a mixture of anger and arousal - were hidden behind fluttering lashes, the sight of Virgil almost too much for him to handle; but the rest of his body was arching into every touch, desperate to comply. Legs wrapped around Virgil’s waist, hands placed on the other’s biceps to feel the strong muscles hold him down, and his length, God, he was so hard against Virgil’s crotch.

 

Once positive that Roman’s lips would be too swollen for him to comfortably scream for help, Virgil’s lips trailed down his jaw - being sure to bite and tug at the skin hanging so loosely from his bones - down to his sore, sore neck. His features were only partially cloaked by the natural pitch of Virgil’s world, but he felt a tug at his gut upon seeing the dark colors unnaturally spiraling in the sea of pearly skin. Purple and navy kisses from his hands, and he vowed to darken the skin further.

 

“Virgil,” Roman gasped, one hand sliding to the back of Virgil’s neck in order to keep him there, to ensure that the pleasure would continue. And Virgil released a heavy breath against Roman’s skin, struggling to remain in control of himself. He couldn’t show just how wrecked the sight of the other cowering beneath him made him, how close he already was to being thrown over the edge. He had to resist, contain himself until Roman was too far gone to realize that Virgil was already torn at the seams.

 

“More.”

 

The sound ripped Virgil from his thoughts and he obliged, hungry fingers pulling at Roman’s shirt until he had popped the first three buttons off and revealed a liberal sliver of skin.  _ More _ was right, and Roman stared down at him in silent fascination as Virgil quickly unfastened the rest of his buttons. Desire and pure need motivated the quickness of his actions and there, Roman’s torso exposed. There.

 

He was just as beautiful as he remembered.

 

“I’m going to kill you,” Virgil breathed but malice wasn’t laced in his words, not at all. There was only poorly-concealed belief and an animalistic arousal, something deep inside of him that he had no control over. Absolutely none.

 

“Do it then,” Roman bravely replied with a newfound energy neither of them had been expecting.  _ He just might _ , a voice screamed in the back of Roman’s mind but he smothered it, waiting for Virgil to look at him so Roman could show just how badly he wanted him. Because he did, as much as he had the first time he had seen Virgil lounging in his chair back in the speakeasy. Only a day ago, a lifetime.

 

Virgil, nothing short of a gentleman, decided to comply.

 

His movements became rushed then, and Roman did his best to make the task easier. He lifted his hips and Virgil tugged at his pants, tossing them aside as he ran his fingers along the inside of his thigh. Roman choked on his breath when he felt the other hover over his entrance, worrying on his bottom lip as he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

But nothing happened.

 

Roman, trying to focus on steadying his breaths, forced his eyes open only to find Virgil staring at him. Hair hung over his eyes and his own chest was rising and falling in an abnormal pattern, the man before him sharing nothing with the composed creature had learned to expect.

 

But Virgil was human, wrecked at the sight of this glorious man beneath him, and Roman couldn’t help the turn of his lips into a wicked grin. He had killed a god, made him man.

 

Virgil pushed past the ring of muscle with a slender finger then and Roman broke, splintering in two before him. It stung, clearly, but Roman’s eyes were dark, darker than ever, and he wouldn’t look away from him. Couldn’t look away.

 

“Who knew that all it took to break the government’s bitch was to leave him alone in the dark with the devil for a few hours,” Virgil taunted, allowing Roman to adjust to the digit inside of him. He could take more, had done so in the past and would surely do so in the near future, so the prep was hardly necessary. But it was fun to watch him squirm.

 

“Fuck you,” Roman breathed in response, the implication of his words clear and unquestionable. It was a  _ fuck me _ if Virgil ever heard one.

 

And so Virgil did, anything to appease his fallen angel.

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys,
> 
> yeah......sorry about this one.
> 
> I’ve been sending mac screenshots since I started writing and even she was like “bro wtf” with some of this so yeah, idk.
> 
> god, I’m going to hell and it’s your fault, you filthy fucks.
> 
> just kidding, I love you all dearly and thanks for reading,  
> ronnie


End file.
